


Sui Generis

by Kaimera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, God this got out of hand, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Reincarnation, i promise it'll get better, it's a reincarnation fic, please don't be put off by the death warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 21:50:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaimera/pseuds/Kaimera
Summary: As a Reaper, Gabriel has to live by three unbreakable rules:1) Never get attached to the affairs of man.2) Never Guide the same soul twice.3) Never, ever interfere with a death.In his centuries of servitude, he’s never faltered in them.And then he meets Jesse.[Reincarnation AU + 5+1 fic]Jesse cocks his head almost quizzically. “I know you.” The words are breathed out, half in confusion, half in awe.It sends a panicked thrill down Gabriel’s spine and he forces his mouth open. “No, you don’t.” The lie leaves a sour taste on his tongue, burns a hole into his very being.Necessary,whispers his head.Coward,growls his heart.





	Sui Generis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlitImagination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlitImagination/gifts).



> This is my McReyes Secret Snowflake gift for the lovely [AlitImagination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlitImagination)!
> 
> Merry Christmas, Ash/nebulousroyalty :D Please accept this gift on this fine Christmas day of actual reaper Gabe dealing with Feelings™️. I apologise for not being able to deliver snow and hot chocolate by the fireplace, but I took liberties with magical creatures and pining Gabe and cranked up the hurt 'til the dial came off, so hopefully that makes up for it and you like it :3c Happy holidays!
> 
> A million and one thank you's to my brilliant beta, [necrophililac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrophililac/pseuds/necrophililac). Rachel, I love you, I don't deserve you, if I could kiss the ground you walk on, I would. Thank you for cheering me on and for putting up with my whining and break-downs, my very, very, VERY late ass, and the mess that was my fic before you polished it over so beautifully.
> 
> And finally, to the mods of this wonderful event: thank you for all your hard work bringing everyone together in celebration of our love for these two Blackwatch boys.

**_(i) Year: 1705_ **

It starts out with a song he’s not meant to hear, from a soul he’s not meant to Guide.

It’s a thought that doesn’t cross his mind, not in that moment, and not until much, much later, because he feels the pull anyway, and that’s all that matters—the same draw that reaches out to him with both hands and gently tugs him by the shoulders, whispering, _here, I’m over here. Find me, find me._

It doesn’t occur to him yet, to dwell on how this particular whisper is just a fraction too loud to be one, and an inch too clamorous to be anything but a demand.

But when he finds himself in a place that’s a far cry from the kind of setting he’s usually accustomed to—where cruelty wears its name in the unrelenting heat of the sun beating down on the earth and in the bitter absence of shade and shelter—well. That raises warning bells. And it’s in this vast, desert expanse where neither villages nor camps are in sight and signs of life continue to remain stubbornly muted in every direction he looks, that he starts to wonder exactly how this poor soul ended up here.

Here, where somewhere along these dry, cracked-open plains, he hears it sing.

Gabriel has heard hundreds of souls cry out for him, but he’s never heard one that lacks the mournful note his ears have been trained to listen out for. More surprisingly, he’s never heard one that sounds as close to _angry_ as this one does.

And it brings up questions as he searches.

The hint of agony he detects from it has urgency spurring him on and when he manifests again, this time next to more boulders with empty land around him and _still_ no body in sight, he starts to grow desperate.

It’s a slippery Imprint, which isn’t the first that Gabriel’s dealt with, but this is the third time he’s locked onto the soul’s impression and there isn’t a body to show for it. Its trail is all over the place, almost as if it doesn’t want to be pinned down—yet another thing to wonder.

Determination sharpens his focus to the blaze of life that flares loudly in his mind. This time, instead of letting himself get pulled along by that invisible thread, he waits. And waits. Until finally— _there._ Further south. The insistent tugging has started to fade into the background, enough to reveal the deep, steady pulsing of its source hidden behind it. He latches onto it.

This time when he materialises, it yields better, if unexpected, results.

_Wolf,_ is the first thing Gabriel thinks when he spots the crumpled shape lying sprawled out on the dry earth. _This can’t be right,_ is the second.

But it is. It’s the exact same signature of the soul he’s been following around like a hound, carrying that same electrifying impression that snakes its way up his spine the moment he appears. Stupefied, he can’t help but look around once more; quickly, thoroughly. It’s the only living thing for miles. He dares to take a step closer. Then another, and another.

When he gets close enough, he realises his mistake. It’s smaller than a wolf, with a body too short and a coat too coarse and red. When Gabriel thinks about it, it makes sense; wolves from this corner of the world don’t venture out onto land like this, no prey is worth suffering this sandy, acrid environment for. No, this is made for far scrappier creatures, for teeth and claws dedicated to surviving in such unforgiving conditions, with such little vegetation.

Not a wolf, but its cousin. The Nahua people call it a _coyotl;_ a descendant hybrid born with the sun in its eyes and sheer grit in its blood. Gabriel’s sighted its kind before in his travels, peeking out from the fringes of grasslands and forests, and in one case, wandering the mountainsides. A wily and wary hunter, undeniably a loner by nature as opposed to the wolf packs that thrive in communities and family units.

Right now, this one is dying.

Gabriel isn’t a stranger to the deaths of nature’s more beastly creatures. In fact, he’s seen more than his fair share of them, with the territory he’s charged with. But the way that he was drawn to it at all is out of the ordinary, because though animals don’t lack souls, this one is—it’s _loud._ It’s loud and angry and terrified all at once, and the intensity of it bears down on Gabriel’s shoulders like a wave. The restless desperation that seeps from it is infused with a clarity that just isn’t possessed by anything non-human. It feels…entirely too mortal.

And it’s hurting.

More than a little unnerved but unwilling to stand by and do nothing, Gabriel unveils himself and approaches the creature slowly. The second he comes into sight, the _coyotl’s_ eyes dart over to him, wide and wild. It starts to pant, lips pulling back in a snarl.

He crouches down next to it, examines the bloody wounds inflicted on the side it's not lying on and the leg that’s twisted at an unnatural angle, and fights back a wince.

“Hello.” Why he feels the need to say that to bared teeth and a pair of feral-wary golden eyes, he doesn’t know.

It growls in response. _Danger,_ a distressed soul snaps back at him. _Away. Danger, danger. Leave. Away. Wrong wrongwrongwrong. Bad. AWAY._

Gabriel feels his eyebrows rise to his hairline. Another new development. The souls of animals aren’t coherent enough to form words; instead, simple feelings and images are translated in projections, enough to form a single thought that Gabriel can easily interpret, but never _words._

The growl this time is more strained.

It’s enough to startle him out of it, and he schools his features into something that’s hopefully more friendly.

“Not a danger,” he pacifies. “I just want to help.” It doesn’t soothe the _coyotl,_ who snaps frantic teeth at him. He can feel its mind racing, darting about to try and find a way to escape, to _get away._ Out of habit, and perhaps a bit carelessly, Gabriel mentally reaches out to blanket it with something more familiar and comforting, deciding to treat it like he would any other animal, its earlier cognizant behaviour forgotten for the moment.

Gingerly he feeds it visions of streaking through dark woods at night, of the feeling of wind in fur and the thrill of a hunt. It helps a little as the _coyotl_ physically quietens, but then Gabriel thinks to brush the calm of his mind up against its livewire one, inadvertently extending outwards to establish the bridge of a mental connection. The responding shock that suddenly bites back stuns him and the mental link shutters in surprise.

A weakened snarl, and then, _Away! Stay away. Danger._

Something pushes against his mind, resistant. It’s trying to shove him out. Gabriel loses all pretence of grace and his mouth drops open.

That...has never happened before.

He catches a flash of pain from the creature before his shock is brushed aside and resolve steeled. “Not a danger,” he repeats softly, firmly, but doesn’t dare make a move to scoot any closer. Talking will just have to do, then. “You’re hurt very badly. Let me help.” He nudges over another mental image of a broken body, then coaxingly feeds over _warm_ and _safe_ and _comfort._

The _coyotl_ whines, ears flattening against its head, still untrusting. Gabriel needs to change that if he’s going to help. So he settles onto his knees and holds both hands out, palms facing upwards.

“It’s alright. I just want to help. See?” More images are fed over, this time of things closer to home. The way a sunset paints the ground a beautiful red, the long-awaited coolness of the breeze that follows it. The twinkling clarity of a black, cloudless night sky. A never-ending canvas overhead speckled with the luminous orbs that dot across it, small but countless.

He’s not sure how long he spends kneeling there, patiently offering up any sort of encouragement he can, but then the _coyotl’s_ lids dip in a slow blink, once, then twice, and its ears peel itself off its head, flicking forward. Its body remains tense, however, wrung taut with pain and wariness. He receives another surprise when tentative words slip out. _Big teeth. Sharp. Red. Hurt. Red. Bad land. Red. HURT. Red, red. SHARP._

A predator attack after wandering into the wrong territory. Gabriel frowns. “Will you let me help? _Please,_ ” he murmurs.

Another blink. The mental pressure against his flickers, reluctant, then starts to ebb back. Gabriel—dismissing the urge to exhale out a weary _thank you—_ slowly, carefully, stretches out his mental presence to graze against that red-hot one. It flinches, but remains steady and he takes the chance to weave together a seamless bond. As soon as it’s strong enough, he slips into the creature’s mind and wastes no time enveloping it in a secure haven of sorts, a bubble that effectively blocks out the physical pain and exhaustion it’s feeling and replaces the dulled sense with a more alleviating touch.

The effect is immediate and, to a greater degree, a relief for both parties. Gabriel releases a sigh he doesn’t realise he’s holding and the _coyotl_ lets out a whimper as its body shudders once before relaxing fully, consoled and finally at ease.

Now with both their minds open to each other, Gabriel’s treated to the full display of the soul before him and its life flashes past his eyes. He limits his attention to the earlier hours of the day and sees the _coyotl_ crawling out from its newly-made den, going hunting, tracking scents and trails, and then—stalking the edges of its marked land before deciding to explore what lay beyond. It was a mistake. The cougar had been upwind, dodging an early detection as it crouched atop a set of boulders while the _coyotl_ ventured by. The only reason it managed to escape was because the predator was young, a kit in comparison, and far too slow for the _coyotl,_ injured though it was. That didn’t mean the vicious bites from the cougar hurt any less.

So Gabriel numbs the burning imprint of those teeth in the memory and gratitude floods through the link a moment later. He answers with a soft smile, but it soon slips when his eyes are drawn back to the animal’s broken body.

There’s only so long a physical form can cling onto life after going through a mortally devastating ordeal, and it’s _draining_ on a soul to keep itself anchored to a dying vessel. He’s gone through the same process with humans too many times to know what has to happen next, never mind the fact that he’s dealing with an animal in this situation. As far as Gabriel is concerned, he’s seen too much from this creature to not treat it with the same respect he would a man.

So he tells the soul with the heart of _coyotl_ and the spirit of a man, of the inevitable. By now it already knows why he’s here, reading his intentions like Gabriel reads its life. It will be quick, he promises. Quick and painless, like shedding fur. _You won’t hurt again, I won’t let you._

Instead of the angry desperation he’s used to receiving from humans, he’s greeted instead with a sombre acceptance, achingly heartfelt.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispers, both aloud and in its mind. When he offers his physical touch, the _coyotl_ welcomes it. Softly, sweetly, he strokes down its body, letting his fingers comb through the matted, bloody fur as he fills the link with a tender sort of peace. In turn, the _coyotl_ grants him what is possibly the most unexpected gift yet, and exchanges visions of its own life. The words that are presented alongside them strike a chord deep within Gabriel, touching a part of him he thought was long buried and rattling him to his very core:

_Wild._

_Home._

_Running._

_Heat._

_Life._

_Home._

_Free._

_Alone._

_Alone._

The last one is accompanied by a soft whine and Gabriel determinedly chases away the wretched feeling, surrounding the wayward soul with his own essence to serve as a balm. _Not alone,_ he states succinctly. An appreciative spark pokes at him, but it’s weak now.

Gabriel doesn’t know how it happened, but he ends up cradling the dying _coyotl_ in his lap, murmuring quiet nothings to it as its heartbeat slows and slows until it is so faint he has to struggle to hear it. The next time its lids close, they don’t open, and Gabriel watches morosely as a bright aura detaches itself from the body on cue.

He tries to reach out and brush a hand against that wilful soul, he does. But it slips through his fingers like the sand he’s made a home on and swirls around him once, almost playfully, before fading like mist before his eyes. Just like it’s supposed to. Just like the souls of non-humans usually do. Gabriel wants tells himself that’s what it is, just another animal—but the box that’s now lying not-so-dormant in his chest beats a different declaration.

(He lays the body aside and digs into the ground with his hands.)

He’s not supposed to feel this woefully lost, he knows.

(Carefully, the _coyotl_ is lowered into the neat hole, and covered back up with dirt)

He’s done his job easing its last few moments and quelling its suffering, like he’s meant to do.

(Finding whatever stones and rocks he can, he stacks them over the sloppy, makeshift burial.)

It’s time to move on to the next soul that calls out for him.

* * *

 

**_(ii) Year: 1810_ **

Gabriel’s standing amidst a battered bullfighting arena, having just finished escorting the soul of a man who’d perished in the bloodthirsty sport, when he feels it.

A tug; more insistent, more assertive than what he’s felt in decades.

It piques his curiosity and after a moment’s hesitation, he answers it—

—And ends up in a bar.

A bar that’s apparently hosting several fights at once.

It’s absolute chaos. There’s indiscernible shouting and glass crashing and furniture flying all across the room. Men howl in pain and rage as they tackle the closest body they can find. From the more accented swear words that he picks up, Gabriel determines he’s still somewhere in Mexico.

He takes a step back just in time to avoid two overgrown gentlemen tumbling down at his feet in a flurry of fists and spit as they trade violent blows made sloppy by drink. Gabriel grimaces. If multiple people die in this fight alone, it would explain the strength of the call.

Except when he looks around the room a second time, every soul is alight with life, glaringly bright in its ferocity and completely untarnished. That’s—strange. The pull remains, stubborn and steady, but there isn’t—

Oh.

A man lounges at the very back of the tavern with arms folded and feet propped atop the table he occupies. He dons a rust-red piece of fabric that’s common among the folk here—a serape, Gabriel believes it’s called—and a wide-brimmed hat is pulled down low over his eyes, chin dipped down to rest on his chest. A simple glance suggests he is sleeping, but with the way his aura gleams despite the relaxed posture, Gabriel doubts this is the case. That’s quickly dismissed, though, once he turns his attention onto the thick cloud of shadow that hangs off the man like a horrendously oversized leech.

He settles down to wait.

An hour passes. Not one person has approached the man, who hasn’t moved a muscle; not to take a drink from the mug sitting in front of him, and not to peek out from under that hat either. Law enforcement comes and goes, but by then, the most violent of altercations has simmered down to nothing more than slurred vocal disagreements. The patrons that aren’t knocked-out continue to drink while grumbling about bruises and beatings, but for the most part, behave. Gabriel doesn’t pay them any mind and by the second hour, starts to question his presence here.

He bites the inside of his cheeks, torn between the need to investigate and his duty to remain as uninvolved as possible, but then the third hour hits, his curiosity wins out and he finds himself in a dark corner underneath the staircase pulling off his glamour and conjuring up similar attire to the people around him. A last-minute addition of gloves and, what the hell, a hat of his own, and he’s weaving his way through the mess of a room, the rowdier clientele now mostly cleared out. As he nears the table, the barely perceptible tensing of a set of broad shoulders tells him the man is still very much awake and very much alert.

“Mind if I sit?” Gabriel asks.

An arm unfolds to tip up the brim of that hat, revealing ruggedly handsome features framed by a thick beard and equally thick hair, hanging long and brushing the top of his shirt collar. A pair of deep brown eyes drag a disinterested look up the length of Gabriel’s body before settling onto his face with an eyebrow cocked. The head inclines slightly.

“Be my guest.” The words are light, his drawl heavy and low in an aloof invitation, but the spark in his eyes—apprehensive and caged—sends a familiar ring through Gabriel. One that he can’t place.

Gabriel slides into the seat across from him, placing himself in the man’s line of sight. “Does it always get that exciting in here?”

The man snorts. “Only every other month. If they ain’t fightin’ for ownership of the place, it’s the usual neighbourhood spats that need sortin’ out.”

“Not something you’re interested in partaking in, I take it?”

A huff, lips pursing. “Unlike some men, I know how to behave. You new here, then?”

“Passing through.”

“Shouldn’t let on to the folks ‘round here. Makes for easy pickings.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Then he nods to the gun clipped into its holster on the man’s side, fingers only inches from it. Too close, too casually positioned. “Expecting trouble?”

He observes the way his companion stiffens and the barely-there twitch of that hand, and says, “Whatever company you’re expecting, I can assure you it isn’t me.”

“And who says I’m expectin’ anyone?” the man counters smoothly, a hint of tension in the words.

“Your eyes. They’re too suspicious.”

“It’s a dangerous town.”

Gabriel dips his head in agreement. “And yet, I’m the one unarmed in this conversation.” The ghost of a smile flickers past the man’s face, so quick Gabriel thinks he could have imagined it. “May I ask for your name?”

“You may,” he says with narrowed eyes. “Can’t promise I’ll give it to you.”

“A name for a name, then? Mine is Gabriel.”

The cowboy repeats his name, humming softly, and Gabriel hadn’t known how pleasant it could sound when rolled off a tongue like _that._ He’s busy pondering it and nearly misses the next words: “Pretty name for a pretty face.”

It’s so unexpected it startles a laugh out of him. He can’t remember the last time anyone has taken such liberties with him. If they ever did in the first place. He decides he likes it. “Forward of you. And to think I believed I was in the company of a gentleman,” Gabriel finds himself teasing back.

An incredulous gaze deliberately combs across the wrecked bar and its remaining occupants, half of which are slumbering noisily on the floor. “Darlin’, you _are._ ”

“I suppose I am,” he concedes. “And I’m sure that as a gentleman, it would be remiss of you to remain unnamed.”

The corner of that wicked mouth hooks up and genuine mirth finally shines through. “Well then, you’re not wrong there. ’S a pleasure, Gabriel. Name’s McCain. But you can call me Jesse.”

It’s like a dam cracking open.

Gabriel doesn’t mean for it to happen but they end up talking; it’s longer than he expects, easier than he predicts, and far more enjoyable that he cares to admit.

They talk, and Gabriel finds himself relaxing in Jesse McCain’s presence, to the point where that earlier familiarity that pricked at him is now a fading tickle in his mind and he forgets to think about it. They talk, and Gabriel’s face starts to hurt from all the smiling, but he finds he doesn’t mind at all. They talk, and Gabriel loses track of himself.

By the time dawn breaks, the both of them are nestled comfortably in their respective seats, bodies loose and relaxed, and it’s at this point that Gabriel thinks that maybe there’s been a miscalculation, maybe whatever he’s expecting to happen isn’t going to, after all.

Jesse has removed his hat, which sits on the table between them, and he’s leaning forward slightly, gesturing wildly as he argues the finer merits of horsemanship. Gabriel wonders, not for the first time, how exactly they landed on this particular topic, and finds he doesn’t care. Jesse’s more than a little high-strung from the lack of sleep and it’s quite the source of amusement for him as he listens to the other man rant.

“All I’m sayin’ is treat the animal with respect and it’ll reward you with a whole lot of trust. Tryin’ to control ‘em through fear and pain is the quickest way to get your goddamn skull kicked in.” His passion is palpable and quite admirable. When Gabriel deems to tell him so, Jesse’s grin grows impish and he feels like he just walked into a trap.

“Y’know,” that ridiculous drawl quips, “there’re other ways of tellin’ a man you fancy him, don’t gotta use big words for it.”

Gabriel promptly flounders, eyes widening as his face heats up with remarkable speed. He ends up spluttering uselessly, simple words—and the ability to form a single coherent thought—escaping him in traitorous fashion. Jesse chuckles and winks. ( _Winks!_ ) “Relax, Gabe,”—hearing his name from those lips, even shortened as it is, doesn’t help the flush that continues to crawl all over his body—“I’m teasin’.”

“Clearly, you have quite the penchant for it,” he grumbles.

When the time comes for them to finally part ways for the day, it’s not without a promise from Jesse to return tomorrow and bid his goodbyes on Gabriel’s supposed last night in town. By now he’s wholly confident that there lies an error in the way he’s reading Jesse’s soul. Whatever it is, the man clearly isn’t bound to die any time soon, despite the call still resonating in Gabriel’s head—if not Jesse would have keeled over by now.

Perhaps it’s something else that’s causing it, he muses as he watches Jesse leave with a tip of his hat. He thinks of approaching his former mentor after he departs to inquire about it. Amélie can be quite…paranoid, but she may know of such an anomaly. For the time being, Gabriel explores the surrounding area and tries not to think too much about how he’ll miss this brief interlude in his life once he moves on from here. From Jesse.

Everything comes crashing down when, hours later, he’s suddenly and viciously dragged back to town by the piercing cry of a song and finds himself standing in the front of the saloon. A body lies bleeding out on the steps before him, a single bullet wound between a pair of familiar brown eyes, now void of any warmth or light. Stunned, Gabriel staggers forward in dismay.

He was wrong. Jesse _was_ meant to die, and Gabriel, it seems, is meant to Guide him after all. But that doesn’t explain the strange timing of it, because souls don’t do that. They don’t project their impending passing _hours_ before they’re slated to die, it’s only ever been minutes before the death that attracts the Reaper to it. Which is why Gabriel had been so _sure—_

“Why so sad, angel?” a deep voice quips and he looks up to see Jesse’s soul hovering in front of him, wearing a small smile.

A strange sense of helplessness accosts him. “You died.”

Jesse clucks his tongue regretfully and gestures at the body lying between them. “I gathered as much.”

Out of habit, the question leaves Gabriel’s lips, “Do you remember what happened?”

He makes a face. “It’s all fuzzy, but I doubt it’ll take much to guess.” Then his head tilts to one side. “What I want to know is how you’re seein’ and talkin’ to me like I’m still breathing.”

Right. That.

Gabriel isn’t used to physically interacting with souls before their passing, there’s never been a need to—not until last night. Jesse’s the first. Which in itself brings up certain questions he’s not allowed to answer.

He spares a thought to the region he’s in and says carefully, “Does the name _Santa Muerte_ mean anything to you?”

Jesse scoffs. “’Course. She’s—” His eyes widen in sudden understanding and Gabriel rushes to correct him.

“Consider me an agent of hers. Of sorts. I’m what you would call a Reaper, but the concept is similar and if you know who she is, you know why I’m here.”

Without missing a beat, Jesse’s mouth curves up into a grin. “Figured it was too good to be true.”

“What was?”

“When you walked up to me at the bar, there was no way you were anythin’ less than an angel. Also explains why you’re all bright and shiny.”

Gabriel’s rather proud his blush doesn’t feel as scalding as before, but he still breaks away his gaze. At least now he knows now what he looks like to souls.

“You here to take me away, then?” Jesse hums good-naturedly, and compared to thousands of other more visceral reactions, this show of nonchalance throws him off. He has to ask.

“I—you’re not upset? At your death?”

“Doubt that’ll accomplish much, even if I were. ‘Sides, I know the life I lead. Well, _led._ I’m just surprised this didn’t happen earlier. Least I got to see one last pretty face ‘fore I go.” The smile turns crooked and something inside of Gabriel flips.

“You’ll come back,” he says quietly, almost under his breath.

Jesse makes a questioning sound but Gabriel thinks that’s enough secrets he’s let loose for now and only shakes his head fondly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man quite like you, Jesse McCain.” He holds out a hand, nodding in encouragement and the cowboy, chuckling, doesn’t hesitate to place his palm in his. The second he does, the memories of his death return to him and he chokes out a gasp.

Gabriel, meanwhile, freezes. Visions and feelings flood his senses, of a very different life in a very different body, built on a land not too far away from here.

“So that’s how it happened,” Jesse wheezes after a few moments. “Always knew I’d go down in a gunfight.”

Gabriel looks at the cowboy with new eyes. _It’s you,_ he wants to say, wants to share his wonder. Jesse’s the reincarnated soul of the _coyotl_ he saved a lifetime ago, and somehow he’d been born again a man. This is his first life as a human and Gabriel managed to find him.

It’s a bittersweet reunion, one that the other man is completely unaware of, and he’s not in a position to change that, so he keeps his newfound knowledge to himself. All he can do is be comforted by the fact that Jesse will have more lives to come, whether they meet again or not.

“That was quite the experience. Now what?” Jesse asks, hand still in his.

His returning smile is sad. “Now you move on.”

The outline of Jesse’s soul starts to shine. “Oh,” he gasps, and his eyes go unfocused and serene. Comprehension dawns, clear in every line on his face.

This farewell is significantly less emotionally-charged than its predecessor, but Jesse still manages to surprise him when he gives Gabriel’s hand one last squeeze, just as the glow of his soul starts to become blinding. “Thank you, Gabe.”

And then he’s gone, and Gabriel is left standing there alone with a too-heavy chest. Belatedly, he says to the empty air around him, “Goodbye.”

_It’s just another job,_ he recites to himself, _you had your fun, now it’s time to move on._

So he does.

Another soul calls out for him, faint and delicate in his mind. He answers it.

* * *

 

**_(iii) Year: 1890_ **

When Gabriel manifests to lush green grass beneath his bare feet and towering oak trees all around him, he hums in curiosity, mulling over where that persistent, invisible pull—the one he is helpless to resist, tugging and _tugging_ at all of his being—has brought him to this time. It’s rare that he’s led to places outside of civilisation, rarer still that he’s greeted with any form of peace, so he waits patiently for its imminent end.

True to form, the absolute silence of the forest is shattered only a few moments later by a piercing cry, high-pitched and terrified. It breaches and overshadows another audible echo; deep and fast and thundering—and growing louder by the second. Hooves. Approaching his direction.

A silhouette bursts into view from the trees, leaping over a fallen log; it’s a child on the back of an out of control horse. They streak right past Gabriel and he frowns, taking note of the two auras, both lit up, both unclouded. Neither of them are expected to pass on, then. Right.

He blinks away and reappears further down their oncoming path, making sure to unmask his glamour and doing away with his robes in favour of the appropriate garments of the current time period. Then he faces the distraught animal charging right at him.

Mentally, he reaches out to grab ahold of its frantic mind, greeting it with a steady touch. Tendrils of confusion and alarm are wrapped around it and he immediately counters the fright with the calm of open grassy plains and endless blue skies overhead. The effect is instantaneous and succeeds in slowing the horse’s gallop to a restless stop right in front of him, sides heaving. After a moment, its head lowers into his outstretched palm and foreign memories flash through his own mind.

“Shh, hush now,” Gabriel croons at the mare, rubbing a gentle hand down the side of her face. The wild look in her eyes slowly dissipates into something more grounded, more trusting, and she nuzzles delicately at him. The small arms clutching her neck, however, are pale and strained, fear locking them into place as a whimper escapes from the face buried in the mane of the steed.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” he consoles. “I’ve got a good handle on her.”

Terrified blue eyes peek out at him and he smiles at them. “Hello. Are you alright?” The child gives a shaky nod but doesn’t say anything. “Would you like some help dismounting her?” Another nod and the tiny body swiftly unfolds from its position, arms shooting out at him. Gabriel moves to them and easily lifts the young boy up before settling him down on the ground.

“She has a sweet soul,” he tells the child, turning his attention back to the creature, who’s turned around to nudge greedily at his hands. Gabriel obliges and starts stroking the dappled-grey muzzle again. “She didn’t mean to take off like that, but she was spooked, terribly so.”

He sees guilt descend upon the child like an angry cloud and before Gabriel can comfort him, the sound of another set of hooves fills the air. This time, it’s a larger figure on horseback that erupts from the trees.

Gabriel recognises it immediately and fails to quash the shock that jolts fiercely through him. Too late he realises the pull he’d succumbed to earlier had a more forceful touch than usual.

“Abe!”

The rider slows as he nears them and vaults off his own horse, rushing over to the boy who now looks on the verge of tears. “Oh, thank the Lord. Are you okay, Abe? Are you hurt?”

The child—Abe—throws himself into the older man’s arms, shaking his head and sniffing back tears. “I believe he’s unharmed, just rather shaken from that little stunt,” Gabriel offers.

To his amusement, this earns him a sound of distress and the man starts petting Abe down and checking him over despite Gabriel’s reassurances. Then he straightens up and those warm, brown eyes turn to Gabriel—the same pair that have haunted his mind for years, from a time long past. The alarm in them fades as gratitude starts to seep through.

“I can’t thank you enough for comin’ to his rescue.” It’s even the same honeyed drawl, pleasantly deep and heavily accented. It’s been decades, but something still stirs in his chest at the sound of it. “Truly, I’m indebted. You weren’t harmed none, were you?”

It takes several seconds for Gabriel to move and he shakes his head, turning to give the mare at his side a couple of firm pats. “Not at all. I’ve worked with horses before, I’m sure she just needed someone to calm her down after what must have been a bad scare.”

“It was,” the man laments. “She’s never been this wild, usually she’s the sweetest out of all of ‘em. ‘M just mighty glad these two ran into someone who knows what he’s doin’. Thank you again, mister…?”

He hesitates for a split second, then, watching the other man’s eyes carefully, says, “Gabriel”—nothing disturbs the overwhelming gratitutde he sees in them and he tells himself that it’s relief he feels, not disappointment.

“Well, Mr. Gabriel, I’m McCauley. Jesse McCauley. This here’s young Abraham.” He nods down at the lad who’s glued to his side, but Gabriel’s attention snags.

_Jesse McCauley. Jesse McCain._ Through sheer force of will he keeps his features impassive. What are the odds?

“It’s a good thing you were here. Wasn’t sure if I would’ve caught up to him before anything’d happened.” Little Abraham winces and a large hand comes down to ruffle through his hair, pacifying. “Y’did good, boyo. Hung on tight jus’ like I said to,” McCauley murmurs, though the small head ducks down and the air around them surges with the sharp sting of regret.

Gabriel softens and, in an attempt to improve the youngling’s mood, says, “Mounting a horse this size takes a great deal of courage, especially for a boy his age.” The child’s soul was nearly illuminated with it, in fact. Gabriel doesn’t doubt that he’ll be a force to be reckoned with in the future.

It prompts a fond chuckle. “Too much, seems like. Reminds me of myself.”

Gabriel inclines his head slightly. “Your son?”

Jesse must detect Abraham’s heavy mood as well, because then he’s hoisting him up in his arms. “This li’l tyke? Naw, Abe here—his father’s a good friend of mine. I’m jus’ watchin’ him for the time being.” A grimace twists his handsome face. “Probably not doing a bang-up job at that.”

“ _Het spijt me,_ ” Abraham finally cries out softly. “It was my fault. I am sorry, Mister McCauley,” he sniffles and buries his face in the crook of Jesse’s neck.

The man tuts. “Hey, now. None of that. I know y’didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

Gabriel, picking up on the boy’s native language, slips into it and says, gently, “ _You are not to blame, little one._ ” He must be somewhere in the Netherlands. (It makes Jesse’s displaced accent even more bizarre, but Gabriel doesn’t dwell on that now.) “ _It was out of your control._ ”

Abraham brightens a little at the familiar speech, though remorse still looms over him. “ _It was my fault,_ ” he insists, “ _I ran away from Mister McCauley. I was angry and stole Pudding to try and find papa._ ”

Gabriel blinks. Pudding?

A soft whinny pipes up by his elbow and there’s a bump at his hands. _Ah,_ the mare.

“ _That may be so, and I’m sure running off like such was a reckless action, but it was not your fault that Pudding,_ ” he leads the horse closer to its young rider, gives the animal a mental nudge of _comfort,_ and watches, satisfied when it starts to nibble playfully at its owner’s shoes, “ _got frightened and you lost your handle on her._ ” He’s rewarded with a giggle from Abraham and a lightening of the stubborn thundercloud that surrounds the boy when small hands reach out to rub against the mare’s forehead.

McCauley, meanwhile, watches the exchange curiously, with no small amount of surprise, and Gabriel, realising there’s a blankness to it, reverts back to English, “That being said, perhaps you are more amenable to having your guardian escort you back home now, hm?”

The child nods sheepishly and clings tighter onto Jesse. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbles.

Gabriel winks at Abraham, handing over the reins to his caretaker. “I trust you’ll take more care in handling your horse next time.” He forces himself to meet McCauley’s gaze next. “It was a pleasure meeting you both. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Now hold up,” McCauley suddenly declares. “It ain’t fittin’ if we let you leave without repayin’ your kindness. If it’s not much trouble to yourself, I’d like to ask you to accompany us back. Perhaps we can fix you up a meal and offer you a place to rest your feet for a moment.”

Every instinct in Gabriel’s body lights up in warning and he has to bite back the wince that rolls over him.

_You know this soul,_ the voice inside him, the one that’s dutiful and obedient, snaps. _Leave! Do_ not _interfere. Do_ not _make the same mistake twice. LEAVE._

He tries to listen and block out the ache in his heart. (How do the others do this?) “As generous as that is, I don’t want to impose, and I really do have to get going.”

“Ain’t imposing if it’s an invitation.”

_Never get involved, Gabriel. Do you understand? To cross that line is to put yourself—and the soul—at risk._

_I understand._

It’s an age-old lesson his kind learn at their dawn; the very first, drummed into his being from the beginning. It’s what they live by, what they swear to. Right now, it’s barely a whisper in his memory.

There’s a hesitance this time, before the apologetic shake of his head comes and he offers the other man a smile that he doesn’t feel.

McCauley doesn’t take it. “How ‘bout this,” he proposes, apparently unwilling to give up, “I’ll be down at the village later tonight, if you know where that is.” Gabriel doesn’t. He nods anyway. “If you see fit to join me, I’ll gladly buy you a couple rounds at the pub. Matter of fact, I insist.”

The chuckle slips out on its own accord and Gabriel hears the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them, “You’re rather set on this, aren’t you?”

“’Fraid so.”

And those brown eyes are staring right into his, so beautifully earnest that Gabriel’s heart is all the weaker for it. So, powerless, he reaches out for the companionship so readily extended to him.

“Very well, then,” he yields. “I will be there.” The beaming smile he gets in return silences the part of him that’s very vehemently protesting the decision.

Pudding puts up a little bit of resistance in pulling away from Gabriel’s touch, and it takes him a minute or so to cajole her into obeying. He tries to ignore the intent way McCauley studies him as he whispers quietly into the mare’s flicking ears to _go along now, return home with your masters,_ before her tail brushes against him and she lets herself be led off by man and boy, the boy happily reaching over and patting her on the nose.

“Much obliged, good sir.” McCauley is impressed as he moves to tie Pudding’s reins to his own horse, a massive white stallion. “You have a good rest of your day, Mr. Gabriel, and I’ll expect your company later this eve in town.”

“Later,” Gabriel says and dips his head in acknowledgement. He watches as the man lifts a waving Abraham onto the saddled back of the stallion before mounting Pudding himself and starting to lead his entourage back in the direction from which they came.

In the hours leading up to nightfall, Gabriel forces himself to stay away but keeps every one of his senses attuned to the soul that’s still reaching out to him, listening out for a break in its cadence and waiting with bated breath for it to turn to song.

It doesn’t happen and lesson two weighs heavy on his conscience.

_If you recognise a soul as one you’ve Guided before, what are you expected to do?_

Obediently: _I am to disregard it and immediately report in for a substitute._

Gabriel has no problem following this rule; he’s called in for replacements time and time again with the handful of souls he’s encountered at least once before, thinking nothing of it. But there’s something vastly different about the way Jesse’s soul acts that has Gabriel telling himself it's for the sake of investigation that he’s deliberately breaking all their laws. No other has reached out to him like Jesse has, insistent as he is, and Gabriel thinks there has to be a reason, that perhaps they’re linked in some way.

So he keeps his word and stays to see this through.

That evening McCauley walks through the tavern doors and when his eyes land on Gabriel, sitting alone in a corner table, they light up. A delighted grin nearly splits his face in two and Gabriel wrestles to tame the pounding in his chest.

“Mr. Gabriel, you came.”

“I did. And please, just Gabriel is fine.”

“Well, then, ‘just Gabriel’, what’ll you have?”

They order drinks and the conversation flows smoothly between them, but where McCauley’s tongue starts to loosen, Gabriel keeps a leash on his own and lets the other man do most of the talking.

“So tell me, _Gabriel,_ ” McCauley finally drawls, and there’s something in his voice that Gabriel thinks to place as mistrust. His interest piques. “What was a fine man like yourself doin’ out in the middle of the woods all by your lonesome?”

Ah. He goes for a placating, unassuming tone, “I’m in town for business and just happened to be exploring the neighbourhood when I encountered you and your charge in the forest.” It’s as close to the truth he can manage without lying.

“That’s a mighty long way from town to explore, you have to admit.”

Gabriel shrugs. “It’s a beautiful forest. Who wouldn’t want to explore what it has to offer? As for being by myself, well,” he ignores the unexpected pang in his heart. “I’m not a man used to keeping much company. It’s understandable that many would find it disconcerting.”

McCauley watches him with a quiet look in his eyes. “Many would,” he finally agrees, “but not me. Suspicious, perhaps, but not disconcerting.” A crooked smile hits Gabriel with more force than he likes.

They leave it at that and he dodges any more personal questions aimed at him easily, turning the topic back around to McCauley, who seems happy to offer up his own answers and stories. Against his better judgment, Gabriel finds himself slowly relaxing.

For the first time in centuries, the loneliness that’s made a home in the deep recesses of his spirit, wrapping him suffocatingly tight, ebbs, and he wonders if this is why he’s letting himself be drawn to Jesse. For a chance to elude this solitude, however short-lived.

“I owe you a great deal of thanks, partner,” McCauley says suddenly, unusually sober. His long hair—longer than his last life—has been pulled back in a ponytail, though shorter strands hang loose around his face that he reaches up to tuck behind an ear every so often (an action that Gabriel fights very hard not to admire as his eyes stay glued to the black hat resting on the table between them).

Gabriel nods. “Think nothing of it. I was in the right place at the right time.”

“And thank Heaven for that.”

Gabriel wants to tell him that Abraham would have been fine in the end, that it wasn’t his time. He wants to give in to his nature to comfort and reassure, to chase away the remnants of guilt that still creep along the edges of McCauley’s soul. Instead, he steers the direction of the conversation away from those choppy waters. “Abraham’s father. You mentioned he’s a friend?”

“More than that, he’s family,” Jesse says seriously, a dark glaze over his brown eyes. “The Van Helsings are good people, but Hugo and I—well, we’ve been through too much, seen too much together for me not to call him my brother.” He doesn’t ask for an elaboration.

At one point, Gabriel does what he promised himself not to do and gives in to his curiosity. “Far from home, are we?”

The response is instant. “Could say the same ‘bout you, partner. You can speak their tongue but you sure as hell don’t sound like the folks ‘round here.” It’s not suspicious. If anything, it’s teasing.

“I studied here,” he lies fluidly, smiling lightly.

“Mhm, and the classes you took, they also teach you to how whisper to gentle, four-legged beasts too?”

Gabriel wants to laugh, wants to stare in amazement. McCain. McCauley. Both Jesse. Both just as handsome, both just as sharp and playful. He remembers Jesse McCain and his candid words, the unapologetic way he’d grinned every time Gabriel’s face had heated up.

He feels his smile curve into a smirk and doesn’t stop it. “I have a talented mouth.”

Jesse’s jaw possibly unhinges as he gapes at him and Gabriel’s eyes snap up to the tips of his ears, now flushed a bright, angry red. He has to force himself to blink innocently. “Animals have always responded well to me. Must be my voice.”

“Yeah,” Jesse answers weakly, giving a tug at the red bandana around his neck and clearing his throat, “must be.”

It isn’t long before the cowboy finally excuses himself to return home for the night and reality comes slamming down around Gabriel.

“I’ll be back in town tomorrow and Abe’s already asked to tag along. Says he wants to pick up a new saddle for that mare of his, but between you and me, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind gettin’ the chance to thank his saviour again.” The wink is surreptitious and Jesse looks altogether too pleased as he swipes up his hat and settles it atop his head. “If you happen to be ‘round these parts and see us wanderin’ the streets, don’t be shy.”

“Duly noted,” he says, and then softer: “Goodnight, Jesse.”

“’S been a pleasure, Gabe. G’night.” With a tip of his hat, Jesse turns away.

_(Don’t go,_ he wants to call out but doesn’t. _It’s not safe for you._

But that’s one law—one last lesson—that he absolutely _must not_ defy.)

So he watches the cowboy leave, with a smile he doesn’t feel and a chest wound tight with something he refuses to name—and finally, _finally,_ he lets his gaze reluctantly fall on the cluster of shadows trailing in the other man’s wake. The one that’s been clinging onto that fire-brand soul like a leech since that morning in the forest.

Since Gabriel first lay eyes on him.

He’s still counting the hours when it happens—the melody cuts through the air like a shrieking reminder that he still has a job to do, and as always, Gabriel answers.

He finds himself back in the woods, this time in a deeper part where the trees hang over him menacingly and the dirt on the ground is dry and barren. There’s an eerie silence blanketing the air and strange, dark shapes seem to lurk in the patches of blackness that the moonlight fails to touch.

Someone stands a little way ahead with his back to him, looking up towards the night sky. Gabriel wipes his face of any emotions and reveals himself, lets the crunch of dead leaves beneath his boots announce his arrival.

Jesse jumps and whirls around, a long leather coat flaring out behind him as his gun snaps up to aim right at Gabriel. When he sees who it is, his eyes widen and the grip on his weapon slackens.

“Gabriel?”

“Mr. McCauley,” he greets civilly.

“How—what’re you doin’ here?” Jesse blurts, disbelieving and confused.

Gabriel doesn’t answer him. “Do you know where you are, Mr. McCauley?”

“’Course I do. I’m…” he trails off suddenly. “I’m—” Recognition briefly flits across his face before a steely look takes over. The gun raises to point directly at Gabriel and cocks. “You. You’re one of ‘em.”

To his credit, Jesse’s voice doesn’t waver, but the feeling of betrayal stabs into Gabriel anyway. He pushes past it with effort.

Gabriel’s already shaking his head. “I’m not one of the creatures you hunt, this I promise you.”

“Well, if you ain’t a _vampir_ then explain how the hell’d you find me,” he snaps.

“I will, but first you need to tell me; do you recall how you got here, Jesse?”

“Peacekeeper. I rode her out here and…” he struggles for a moment, anger forgotten. Then eyebrows knit together as he grasps at the blanks in his memories. “I—something happened, I think. Somethin’ bad. I don’t, I don’t remember. Why can’t I remember?” Panic starts to engulf him and though it pricks at Gabriel’s heart, a distressed soul is something he can handle.

When Gabriel asks, “Do you trust me?”, a dubious look is his answer.

“I can help you remember, Jesse, but I cannot promise you will enjoy it.” He holds out his hand and the other man stares hard at it for a few seconds, then closes the distance between them and takes it firmly.

A wave of Jesse’s memories bursts into Gabriel’s mind and instantly, he brings them to the site of Jesse’s death. There’s no body, but there is blood. A lot of it.

Beside him, the cowboy shudders under the weight of these revelations, head bowed deeply and fingers digging hard into Gabriel’s grasp. When he looks back up, his face is streaked with tears, but understanding has soothed it.

“I was ambushed,” he whispers.

Gabriel’s already seen it all—

The restlessness that plagued Jesse for most of the night, the need to make sure his home was safe, that _Abraham_ was safe; all culminating in a desire to go hunting down the dangers lurking so close by. His quick patrol disturbed by a trail too tempting to ignore; a distraction that led him off a path he should have stuck to.

—but he lets Jesse walk through it anyway.

“Serves me right, I reckon. We swore never to go huntin’ without a partner and I broke my own rule; now I’m payin’ for it. Sure am gonna miss Abe and his father, though.” There’s a resigned sigh before he turns a thoughtful gaze onto Gabriel.

“So this is what you meant, when you said I’d come back.”

It takes a while for the words to catch up to Gabriel and when they do, his brain grinds to a stop. That’s not. That’s impossible.

“You— _remember?_ ” Gabriel expected as much, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. After all, this is only Jesse’s second human life. The ability for him to recall their past interaction shouldn’t even be possible until at least a dozen more occurred.

“’Course. Wouldn’t forgive myself if I forgot a face like yours, darlin’.” Gabriel gawks and Jesse laughs, lightly swinging their still-joined hands between them. “Don’t tell me you forgot _mine._ ”

Teasing joy dances through their mental link and Gabriel’s treated to a glimpse of that wild heart again. He swallows back the tide of apprehension that’s growing larger and larger inside him.

“I don’t think I could even if I tried,” he croaks out.

And then all too soon, a gleam starts to surround Jesse, who sucks in a breath. Gabriel’s heart sinks. “Right. That’s my cue to move on, I s’pose.” The smile that Jesse directs at him is fond. “See you in my next life, Gabe. I’ll be waitin’.”

Those last three words send a terrifying shock through him and he jerks back, but Jesse’s already gone and Gabriel’s left with his unanswered questions. Why Jesse? What makes his soul so special to warrant such strange behaviour? How is he recalling his past life, recalling _Gabriel,_ so easily?

_“See you in my next life."_

The words send him into a tailspin.

He’s not—this has gone on too long. He should have retreated the second he recognised Jesse, should never have approached him in the first place.

_“I’ll be waitin’.”_

This was a mistake. He can’t see Jesse again. He _can’t._

Gabriel squeezes his eyes shut and gives in to the worry that’s tearing his conscience apart.

_No more,_ the voice in his head sighs. For once, he’s ready to listen.

* * *

 

**_(iv) Year: 1950_ **

Gabriel doesn’t follow the pull this time.

It hurts, resisting it. More than he expected.

He can do this, he tells himself with clenched fists and gritted teeth. He can do this, he tells himself, committing to the lie while memories of teasing brown eyes and the quirk of a well-worn smirk assaults him. He can do this, he tells himself, and Gabriel doesn’t bleed, but he wonders if this is what it feels like.

_Someone else will Guide him,_ the logical voice inside him begs. _Just stay away and someone else will hear the song and go to him._

Two days pass before the pull suddenly intensifies into a wail, sorrowful and longing. At the same time, Gabriel’s chest starts to hollow out. He holds out for a solid three hours before giving in and letting himself get dragged to a small beachside town somewhere in New Mexico.

A hospital room this time, with the bed in the center occupied by a body, pale and still. Besides the shock of dusty blonde hair, there’s no other change. His face is clear of any lines, undisturbed and peaceful and far too stiff. Gabriel inhales sharply and fights down a rush of nausea.

_A job,_ he chants to himself, over and over. _It’s just another job._

He was a swimmer in this life and the only reason Gabriel knows this is from the notes on a clipboard attached to the end of the bed.

_Patient’s name: Jesse McCraw._

_Patient’s age: Twenty-four._

(Twenty-four. Every lifetime, a few more years are shaved off. This one was six less. The previous; nine. It’s a…worrying trend.)

_Patient’s occupation: Lifeguard._

_Status: Coma._

_Cause of injury: Occupational hazard. Suspected brain damage._

_Next of kin: [blank]._

He stops reading when the hair on the back of his neck stands up. Turning around, he meets the gaze of the spectre standing in the doorway of the room.

Jesse cocks his head almost quizzically. “I know you.” The words are breathed out, half in confusion, half in awe.

It sends a panicked thrill down Gabriel’s spine and he forces his mouth open. “No, you don’t.” The lie leaves a sour taste on his tongue, burns a hole into his very being.

_Necessary,_ whispers his head.

_Coward,_ growls his heart.

Without waiting for a response, Gabriel defaults to the same routine he completes with every other soul: “Do you know where you are?”

Jesse’s gaze shifts to his body on the bed and turns sad. Then he looks back at Gabriel. “Am I dead?” At Gabriel’s careful nod, he sighs. “Guess that’s why it feels like I’ve been wanderin’ around blind. Thought at first I’d been drinkin’ too much.” A light huff of amusement.

Gabriel tries not to wince. He doesn't get it; another Reaper should have heard the cry too, should have come running. _Why didn’t they?_

_Why just Gabriel?_

He clears his throat. “Do you know what happened?”

Brown eyes go unfocused. “No, but I remember feeling awful cold. And I—I think I was waitin’ for someone.”

_A job,_ Gabriel repeats, _do your job._ Silently, he holds out a hand.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Jesse closes the distance and takes it, and the memories return to him. Gabriel braces himself.

A gasp and fingers curl into a tighter hold on his. Then—the softest exhale of his name, reverent and expectant. At the sound of it, Gabriel quickly looks away.

A delicate quiet hangs in the space between them until Jesse finally squeezes his hand. “You didn’t come this time,” he says, and the uncertainty in his voice makes Gabriel hunch in on himself.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” A dozen explanations run through his mind. _Because I got attached when I’m not allowed to. Because I was never supposed to let it get this far. Because I’m risking so much just by being here. Because for some reason you keep calling me back. Because I’m scared._ “I just…couldn’t,” he finishes lamely.

“Will you come see me next time? Before…y’know.” Jesse sounds so hopeful, but Gabriel— Gabriel doesn’t say anything. He shouldn’t.

The other man’s stare starts to bore into him and Gabriel can’t bear to see the disappointment in it, can’t bear to face that same longing reflected back at him. _It’s a job,_ he’s _a job._ This is how it’s supposed to be, and any second now Jesse’s going to fade off without another word, without a goodbye, because Gabriel is too much of a coward to tell him the truth and let him go and—

“Well, you’re here now.”

His head snaps up. “I— What?”

Jesse shrugs. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to. I jus’ thought it’d be nice, gettin’ to meet you again in every life.”

Gabriel blinks, confused. “But you won’t even remember who I am.”

Jesse’s neck flushes red and he reaches up to scratch idly at the back of his head. “Ah, it’s silly. I just like the feeling of seein’ you for the first time, everytime.”

And just like that, Gabriel falls.

His walls, his doubts and insecurities, his reluctant commitment to his duties when it comes to this one man—they all crumble away like a house made of sand.

This time, he looks right into Jesse’s eyes and sees the shy affection in them, hopeful and trusting. _Okay, then._ With his heart thundering impossibly loudly in his ears, he says, “Well, it looks like I’ll have to endeavour to deliver.”

The way Jesse beams has nothing to do with the glow now slowly covering his entire being.

“I’ll be seein’ you around, Gabe.”

_What is it about you?_ whispers his head.

_Nothing. Everything,_ gasps his heart.

Gabriel squeezes a promise into the hand slowly turning incorporeal in his. “I’ll see you again, Jesse.”

* * *

 

**_(v) Year: 2070_ **

Gabriel made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

_“You need to leave. Now.”_

_“Wha— Who the hell are you?! How’d you get in here?”_

_“They’ve rigged this whole base to blow up in a few hours—your own people and they didn’t tell you. You’re going to die if you stay here.”_

Jesse hadn’t even been twenty when he was slated to die. Again. When he followed the pull all the way to some illicit gang hideout in North America and found the young man deep in the throes of a criminal life—one that was about to meet another early end—Gabriel decided he couldn’t allow that to pass, _wouldn’t_ allow it.

_“Do you trust me?”_

_“Fuck, no. I don’t even know what you want from me!”_

He’d just— He’d been so tired of watching Jesse’s lives end earlier and earlier. It was almost unfair, these premature deaths. Jesse deserved to grow old for once and it made Gabriel sick to watch him die time and time again before he even had a chance.

_“Alive. I want you to live.”_

_“Why? What’s it to you if I’m dead or not?”_

So, he did the unthinkable.

_“Everything.”_

Except his mistake didn’t lie in his interference, in his blatant violation of their most sacred rule. He’ll never be sorry for saving Jesse, for leading him out of those caves and away from the blast meant to take his life at just eighteen, and when the call of Jesse’s soul faded shortly after that, Gabriel knew it was worth it.

After that, Jesse had been taken in by law enforcement to be questioned about his connections with the gang and Gabriel had stuck around long enough to watch him cut a deal with the authorities—information for recruitment into their ranks—before he decided it was time to leave. Whatever Overwatch was, Gabriel trusted it to be a place where Jesse could live out a relatively safe and, hopefully, long life. And if not, then at least it would be a far better one than before.

So, Gabriel stayed away over the years, pushed down any temptation to check in on his cowboy. The pull from Jesse’s soul never resurfaced and he thought that was that and the only death for Jesse that would come to pass would be a natural one. Gabriel had done all could, and besides a very confused young man thinking he’d gotten a visit from a guardian angel, no one was any the wiser to what had happened.

But Gabriel should have known it wouldn’t last.

The cry that rings through his mind is sudden and sharp and so familiar it makes him freeze.

No. _No._

Abandoning everything, he frantically reaches out in answer—and appears amidst a gruesome wreckage. A building—no, an entire base brought to ruins. Something crashes down behind him and the ground shakes unsteadily as screams fill the air. So many lives lost, so many souls wandering around, and Gabriel staggers under the weight of them all pulling at him, begging him to find them.

It’s cruel, but he grits his teeth and ignores them all. _Later,_ he swears. Only one man matters now. Gabriel follows the call he knows so well and ends up away from the mass of souls, scrambling in search of the face he loves. He needs to find—

“ _Jesse,_ ” Gabriel exhales, dread uncurling from his stomach. He blinks over to where the man is lying on the cracked floor, lower body buried under an enormous piece of concrete slab. The barely-there rise and fall of his chest sends spikes through Gabriel’s heart. It—doesn’t look good.

He’s unconscious and on the brink of death, soul hanging on by a thread. A wild sense of desperation has Gabriel dropping to his knees beside him. He has to stop this—has to make sure he lives. Jesse can’t die, not again. Gabriel already _saved_ him years ago, it was supposed to _work._ This wasn’t supposed to happen, it can’t—

Shaking hands find their way to Jesse’s face, now much older than it was the last time he saw him, scratched and bruised while an angry scar stretches across his bleeding left temple. His beard is unkempt, bits of debris clinging to it. Cradling him carefully, Gabriel lets the mental connection snap into place and once their minds are bridged, immediately works on shutting out any pain Jesse might be feeling.

Gabriel whispers his name again, broken, and watches the life his cowboy’s led in flashing visions.

_Deadlock._

_Peacekeeper._

_Deadeye._

_Overwatch._

_The Crisis._

_Strike Commander McCree._

_His arm. His_ arm.

_Jack Morrison._

_Blackwatch._

_Ana Amari._

_Blackwatch._

Gabriel was wrong. He was so wrong. Jesse had been the furthest thing from safe with Overwatch. What had he done?

Silently, he pleads with the too-quiet soul to wake up, _please wake up_ , but any attempt to coax him back into consciousness is met with a resounding silence.

When Jesse’s chest seizes mid-breath and doesn’t move again, Gabriel knows he’s failed.

“Gabriel? What are you doing here?” He’s absorbed in his misery to recognise the voice at first, so when he looks up and sees Amélie standing above him, he forgets to panic. She frowns. “This isn’t your territory. Were you reassigned?”

And then the worst possible thing happens:

“ _You,_ ” a deep voice breathes, disbelieving. Both Reapers turn to the source standing only feet away from them and horror finally claws its way into Gabriel’s system.

“I know you,” Jesse’s soul exclaims, wide eyes locked with his. Beside him, Amélie’s spine stiffens.

“How?” she demands. “What is he talking about, Gabriel?”

Before Jesse can answer, Gabriel opens his mouth. “I saved him, years ago.”

Amélie hisses. “ _You interfered with his death?_ ”

Gabriel ignores her and stands to makes his way over to a very bewildered Jesse. “I know you’re confused. Trust me?” He offers his hand.

Jesse’s eyes flicker up to his, then over his shoulder to Amélie. He slips his palm against Gabriel’s—and stumbles under the rush of memories. Gabriel rubs a thumb over the back of his hand soothingly, waits patiently for Jesse to gain his footing and when he does, sends a soft apology down the mental connection.

Jesse’s blooming grin is cut short when he darts a look back at where Amélie stands rigid. His eyebrows furrow. “Gabe? What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel lies, throat thick with unshed tears. Raising Jesse’s hand to his lips, he places a lingering kiss on his knuckles. “You should go.”

An uneasy chuckle. “So soon? I just got here.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, Jesse. I tried to save—” he chokes off.

“Shh, I know you did, Gabe." Jesse cups his free hand against Gabriel’s face and leans in until their foreheads touch. "Truth was, you didn’t have to. Whatever kind of life I have, I’m already glad for. It might be messy at times, but don’t go thinkin’ you have to be responsible for any of it.” Gabriel wants to weep.

Then it’s time for Jesse to leave and the anxiety that clamps down on Gabriel is overwhelming. “Jesse. I don’t know if I—”

“You’ll find me,” the cowboy cuts him off gently, lovingly. He searches Gabriel’s face one more time and his smile turns tender. “You always do.”

Gabriel doesn’t take his eyes off him until he vanishes completely. It feels like a hole is slowly being carved into his chest. _I’ll find you._

Finally, after taking a taking a deep breath and steeling his resolve, he turns to face his old mentor.

“Oh, Gabriel,” Amélie breathes, bleeding disappointment. He doesn’t care, meets her eyes steadily. She searches him for something; repentance, contrition. She’ll never find it.

He made a mistake, yes, but it didn’t lie in his actions. Rather, it lay in his belief that he managed to get away with it; that Jesse’s death had been prevented, _was_ prevented, that it wouldn’t come for him again until something as simple as old age called for it. He should have known. But even then, Gabriel would do it all over again if he could, damn the consequences; this he conveys to Amélie with stubborn silence and an unwavering gaze.

_You’re supposed to be better than this,_ her pursed lips tell him.

_He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care._

Her sigh is a shade too bitter to be melancholic. “What have you done?”

* * *

 

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

They try to blame it on his age, say they should have retired him centuries ago, so what if he’s their best?— _Over a millennia gone unchecked, why wasn’t he assigned a partner sooner?_ Then there are others who argue he’s their best for a reason, that his dedication to his job speaks for itself, and well, yes, this deliberate mistake, this _exception to the rules_ can certainly have colossal ramifications, but nothing even happened anyway, he didn’t let it get that far.

_But did he have the intention to?_ they stress.

Oh, Gabriel had every intention to. Except that he wouldn’t have followed through. As much as he hates himself for it, he wouldn’t have _meddled_ any more than he needed to, save for the one instance that he did—a lapse in judgment, they dared to call it.

It wasn’t a mistake, Gabriel wants to correct them, wants to tattoo it across his chest and stamp the words into his skin—he says nothing.

They demand a sign of remorse, anything to show for it, really. They offer up multiple chances and turn to him, eyes wide with expectation—still, he says nothing.

They want him to regret it—he doesn’t.

They don’t let it stand, of course they don’t, but he’s served them too well for too long to be punished like he should be and the retaliation doesn’t end up being too severe.

“You’re to be retired,” Amélie tells him coolly. “Your soul will turn mortal and you’ll be born human.”

Gabriel nods, accepting the sentence. Inside, his empty chest aches and aches.

“Why him?” Amélie asks, her frustration still fresh. She doesn’t understand, of course she can’t. Jesse's just another soul, after all. A nobody in nearly every life he's been born into. “Why risk everything for one man? Out of millions of souls, what made him so special?”

Gabriel’s been asking himself that for centuries. He doesn’t know what he can tell her; doesn’t know if he _wants_ to tell her.

So he doesn’t say anything

In the end, it doesn’t matter. Because he’s never going to see Jesse again. He won’t remember what he looks like when he smiles, or what he sounds like when he laughs, or the way he made Gabriel feel. That’s all going to be taken away from him.

That, Gabriel thinks, is the worst punishment of all.

* * *

 

**_(+1)_ **

Gabe loves his job, he does. But there’s something about the way the holiday season turns his working hours from _humanly manageable_ to _insanely overwhelming_ that has him questioning if running his own bar is really all it’s cracked up to be. Suffice to say, he’s a busy man, so it’s not entirely Gabe’s fault that he sees his new neighbour no fewer than ten times before a proper introduction can be made and he can finally find out the man’s name.

Ironically, it happens at his place of work.

“You seem familiar. Ain’t I met you somewhere before?”

Gabe looks up from wiping down the table he’s just cleared briefly—and does a double-take when he recognises that Stetson and pair of broad shoulders he’s always catching quick glimpses of bobbing past his home to make their way further up the road.

Now he has a face to put to the hat and Gabe is—suddenly very glad for the extra few minutes he had this morning before his alarm went off. Precious minutes that were wisely spent on a little more grooming than usual before leaving the house. Because—

_Wow._

Gabe’s brain short-circuits for a second, unable to get past the gorgeous brown eyes staring intently into his. (There’s something to be said for the way the tray balanced on one hand remains steady.) Then his mind mercifully comes back online and he kicks himself into gear.

He straightens up and slings the towel over his shoulder, ignoring the urge to wipe a suspiciously sweaty palm down his jeans. “Ah—yeah, we’re neighbours. I live just down the street from you.”

“Right,” the man drawls, and there’s something gruff in the way he says it, so Gabe wonders if he came off as rude by neglecting his neighbourly duties.

Gabe didn't mean to avoid meeting him, but by the time a chance had presented itself on a rare day off from work, it’d already been about four months since his neighbour had moved in and he’d figured silence would be less awkward than facing up to his tardiness.

He offers an apologetic smile now. “I would’ve dropped by earlier to introduce myself, but it’s been a busy few months and work always gets crazy around this time of year.”

The man jerks back a little. “Oh, it ain’t that! I just—you sure we’ve never met before?”

“Positive.” _Trust me, I would have remembered_ you, is what he very much does not say. The bartender in him chooses that moment to offer him a seat at the bar and a round of drinks. “On the house,” Gabriel says. “Consider it my equivalent to a welcome basket of muffins.”

The other man chuckles. “Well, I don’t know ‘bout you, but I usually like to know the names of the men who buy me drinks.”

Gabriel flushes scarlet from head to toe.

The responding grin that pins him in place is devastating. “I’m Jesse.”

Even his name is beautiful. Christ, Gabe is so far gone. And for a man he’s only spoken to for less than sixty seconds—that has to be a record. (It’s the accent, he tells himself.) He just barely manages to form a reply, “Uh, Gabriel. It’s nice to finally meet you, Jesse.”

Curiously, his neighbour—Jesse—frowns slightly and mouths out Gabriel’s name, almost to himself, a strange look coming across his face.

Gabe tilts his head. “Problem?”

Jesse blinks and shakes his head, then he breaks into a flirty smile. “Just thinking how fittin’ it is. Beautiful name for a beautiful face.”

The blush returns with a vengeance.

Oh, boy.

Hours later, Gabe’s face has coloured no fewer than seven times and he’s choked on his own tongue twice that. Jesse is a shameless flirt and he seems to delight in exercising his skills on Gabe, but he’s an even better conversationalist and Gabe, to his surprise, is having _fun._

He’s not a people-person. He was more of a loner growing up and still prefers to keep to himself these days instead of mingle in a crowd. Even his employees know how reserved he can be, so it’s rare for him to find someone to converse with this easily.

“I swear I’ve met you before.”

“And I’m telling you, I’d be hard pressed to forget ever coming across someone like you.”

Jesse’s eyebrows wiggle playfully. “Y’mean someone as devilishly charmin’ as li’l ol’ me?”

“I mean,” Gabe drawls, undeterred, “someone who looks like they walked right out of an old Western paperback. You sure you’re not some time-traveller from the Wild West, cowboy?”

“ _Tch,_ I wish. Think of all the adventures I’d be gettin’ up to.”

Gabe chuckles. “What, like shootouts and vigilante jus—” Something flashes across his vision; the image of an all-too-familiar body bleeding out on the dusty ground outside a small-town saloon. There and gone. “—tice.”

Gabe starts, blinking hard. _Weird._ Jesse doesn’t notice the stumble and goes on, eyes bright, “Yeah, somethin’ like that. Reckon it ought’a be quite a life.” An unpleasant feeling blooms in the pit of Gabe’s stomach and he frowns.

“Maybe not the safest time period for it,” he mutters.

Jesse only laughs. “Ain’t anyone ever tell you ‘safe’ and ‘adventure’ don’t mix well together?”

He scowls over. “You can be safe while adventuring.”

“But then where’s the fun in that?”

“Pretty sure being alive is a fun pastime.”

Jesse grins and clinks his glass against Gabe’s. “I’ll drink to that.”

When it’s time to close, Jesse offers to walk Gabe home and Gabe tries to wrangle in his uncontrollable heart. Jesse’s company stirs something inside him and a part of him that’s been long hurting now settles contentedly.

When they stop outside his house and say their goodbyes, a quiet voice inside Gabe starts to protest. He shoves it down.

“It was nice meeting you, Jesse. I’ll see you around.”

Jesse winks. “Likewise, angel, and you can count on it.” A handshake is offered and Gabriel reaches out to take it.

Their palms touch—

—And it’s like he’s hit by a freight train.

Memories and faces assault him, brutally battering his mind as everything comes flooding back all at once. His chest feels like it’s about to explode and his veins are on fire. His mind screams mercilessly at him. Somewhere in between, he can’t tell where his memories begin and Jesse’s end.

_He’s a Reaper, his job is to Guide the souls of men. To ease their passing._

_Centuries pass. He doesn’t cry when they die anymore._

_He’s lonely. So lonely._

_There’s a song, and a desert, and a coyote. He buries something in the sand there. Something different._

_Jesse._

_A rundown tavern in a violent town. A cowboy with a wicked smile. A gunshot between the eyes. A revelation._

_Jesse._

_A hunter. A brother. A guardian. Murdered by the very creatures he stalked._

_Jesse._

_Waves crashing against the shore. Cold, so cold and dark. Where is he? Who?_ Him.

_Jesse._

_Deadlock. A handsome stranger or a guardian angel? Overwatch. Blackwatch. Morrison and Amari. Blackwatch. Him. It’s_ him.

_Jesse._

_A betrayal. He doesn’t care. He’ll never touch another soul again. He doesn’t care. He’ll be stripped of everything he is. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters, except—_

“Jesse. _Jesse._ ”

“Gabe,” someone gasps.

They’re both on their knees, with Gabriel's hands bracing the ground in front of him, holding his shaking body up. He gulps in air like a drowning man, then lifts his head and forces his body closer to Jesse’s, nearly toppling over him in the process. Trembling hands come up to cup the face he loves and desperately, Gabriel runs his eyes over it.

Jesse. His coyote. His cowboy.

He can hardly believe what’s happening.

McCain. McCauley. McCraw. McCree. All still Jesse.

The man he loves. Here.

“You found me,” Jesse murmurs, weak but giddy. Hands find purchase along his wrists, their grip almost bruising. Gabriel revels in it.

Greedily, he drinks in the moment, in the way his heart beats hard and loud and alive, right next to Jesse’s.

“I found you,” Gabriel echoes in amazement.

“I found you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic proved quite a challenge to write (not gonna lie, I was worried I wouldn't be able to pull it off) but I am impossibly glad that I did, even though I neither expected nor wanted it to snowball (hah) into something so large. Also. It barely shows in the story, but I googled more historical research for this than I ever did for anything in both high school and uni combined. Apologies in advance if any references I made in it are inaccurate and feel free to let me know so I can correct them.
> 
> As always, I hope anyone who read this enjoyed it. Happy holidays to everyone and a very happy New Year to all :)


End file.
